


Dr. Hiddleston's Cure for Hysteria

by ForeverNever



Category: Tom Hiddleston RPF
Genre: But not on Tom's side, Doctor Tom - Freeform, F/M, Female Hysteria, He's a sweetheart, Period romance, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverNever/pseuds/ForeverNever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Abigail Harton is sent by her father to be treated for female hysteria, she really didn't expect it to end up like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dr. Hiddleston's Cure for Hysteria

**Author's Note:**

> First off, SUPER IMPORTANT note: this is NOT how a doctor should ever act towards his or her patient! This is a work of fiction, and these kinds of interactions are NOT admissible in real life. I'm not in any way condoning the problem, or belittling the importance of proper professional action.
> 
> Kay, now that that's over with, TA-DA! Here's a nice little story for you, with AU Doctor Tom. I hope you like it! It's my first RPF, so be nice please. Enjoy!

Abigail hated doctors. She always had—she hated being poked and prodded at, and was thankful that she had little reason to go to one. Until recently, that is.

As a lady of functional society (what with her father being a high-class businessman and all) there were certain things she was not allowed. And, apparently, a sex drive was one of them. One of their maids had overheard her vocalizations of pleasure and reported it to her mother, who had reported it to her father, who had come absolutely unglued at the concept of his daughter doing something as dirty as masturbation.  Personally, Abigail thought it was petty and antiquated to give much of a damn as to what a young lady got up to in her own personal rooms—they had just entered the twentieth century! Could they not put all that behind them?—but her father seemed to think that his daughter’s libido would somehow tarnish his good name.

Pish posh, as her aunt would say.

They labelled it “female hysteria” and sent her to see a doctor. Absolutely ridiculous, especially given that the first electric vibrator was now a household appliance. They could afford it, too! They were certainly well-to-do enough, and it was the same tool used by doctors across the world to end this “crisis of female sexuality.”

Crisis her ass. She knew just what she needed, and was perfectly capable of giving it to herself.

But no, her father would hear none of it, and there was only one doctor around who specialized in this “illness.” That was Dr. Hiddleston.

No one ever gossiped about him, in men’s circles because he was running a lucrative business and in ladies’ circles because that would mean admitting to having gone to him. Which, of course, was an absolute social sin as according to the socialites around town. Abigail had it in her head he would be an old, wrinkled, balding man, maybe arthritic and with bad breath. She was certainly not looking forward to having those hands on her most intimate places. But oh, she was surprised.

Dr. Hiddleston was an incredible looking man. A sharp nose, chiseled cheekbones, a high and aristocratic brow, and the sweetest little thin lips. Blonde hair, well-groomed, dazzling white teeth, and the most incredible blue eyes. Yes, he was a sight. And he was very good at his job.

Abigail had walked out of his office (which was just outside of town, thank the Lord, or everyone would have heard her wailing—and as much as that fuss would be amusing, she didn’t want to be in the center of it) with week knees. The first time she blamed it on the vibrator, which was most certainly a wonderful addition to any woman’s repertoire, if she did say so herself. But after a few visits, which her father demanded she attend once a week, she found herself fantasizing about the stunningly beautiful man behind the device rather than the device itself. If she hadn’t been so perfectly, exhaustively sated by the end of each session, she would have gone home to have a bit more play time just thinking of what his long-fingered hands could do to her.

She had thought the exquisite torture would end after a month, which was what the doctor had originally prescribed. But here she was, two months after her sessions should have been terminated, standing just inside the doorframe of his office building. He had decreed that she needed more extensive treatment, and she had only put up a token protest with her father. The way Dr. Hiddleston could make her feel was like nothing else, and she didn’t want it to stop any time soon.

Dr. Hiddleston walked out of his treatment room, adjusting his white coat on one broad shoulder. “Ah, Miss Harton, right on time as always. I was just getting everything ready.”

Oh, yes, there was also the matter of his voice. By now anything that was said in that deep, sonic timber made her begin to quiver.

“Yes, well, it wouldn’t do to miss an appointment, now would it?” she fired back. She may have been a pile of dough at his feet, but she was still Abigail Harton, the rapid-fire wild woman of their too-small town.

The doctor chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Shall we get started?”

“Of course,” Abigail said, trying to stay steady on her feet as she walked forward, head high. “Margaret, you are dismissed. Be back here in two hours, as usual.” The young maid nodded gratefully and practically ran from the building, which made Abigail chortle. She couldn’t believe the stigma in this place. Sex was sex, that was all, and it certainly shouldn’t take two godforsaken hours to get a woman to where she should be—enjoying it. But Abigail wasn’t complaining. She knew by experience that Dr. Hiddleston didn’t need a fraction of that time, and that he could push her through orgasm after orgasm until she almost couldn’t take any more. The two hours she spent here were the best two hours of her week.

Once the door was closed behind the maid, Dr. Hiddleston shared a fond smile with her. “It never ceased to amaze me how quickly people prefer to depart from here,” he said.

“That makes the two of us, then,” Abigail rolled her eyes. Dr. Hiddleston chuckled again, a low, rolling kind of sound, and Abigail found herself titillated by it. _It’s nothing,_ she told herself. _I’m sure he laughs like this with all his clients. It’s his job to be personable._

“Miss Harton, you are most certainly an unusual woman,” he said, but there was no blame in the words. “Come then, let us get started.” He led Abigail into his treatment room, which was rather unlike any doctor’s office she had been in before. It was a clean environment, but instead of a hard wooden platform it had a comfortable, cushioned place for her to lay. The walls were a light cream, instead of harsh white, and the overall feeling of the place was rather comfortable.

Dr. Hiddleston turned his back to allow Abigail to undress, which Abigail always found both endearing and ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t be seeing her most intimate places in just a matter of moments. But she removed her dress and underthings nonetheless, rather valiantly keeping her hands from shaking. “How has your day been, Doctor?” she asked as she undressed, eyeing the doctor’s broad back. He was holding his hands in front of himself, making his doctor’s coat stretch across his muscular shoulders. Oh, he was a specimen.

“Quite well, thank you, Miss Harton,” Dr. Hiddleston replied. “And yours?”

“Oh, as always,” Abigail said. “You know how it is—a week full of nothing but embroidery and sedentary aggravation.” Dr. Hiddleston huffed a little laugh. If Abigail hadn’t been removing all her clothing, this could have felt like a normal conversation between like minds.

“You don’t seem the type for a sedentary life, certainly,” Dr. Hiddleston said.

“If I were I would be married by now,” Abigail said boldly. The doctor spluttered on a hearty laugh. Abigail smiled triumphantly—she had only heard a real, deep, gut-shaking laugh from him once before, and she had thought it was a beautiful sound. It was doubly so now. How could she miss a noise she had only heard once?

“Oh, oh my,” Dr. Hiddleston said as his laughter calmed, wiping the corners of his eyes. “You are an uncanny woman, Miss Harton.”

“Uncanny enough to be called by my first name?” Abigail gambled. The doctor was silent for a moment. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Doctor, but after three months I should think my Christian name could make some appearance. If that was too forward of me, I beg forgiveness.” Abigail slid under the cool sheet on the bed-like table, which was only there to make the women feel less uncovered, and the doctor turned around once the rustling stopped.

“No, no, my dear, don’t be worried,” Dr. Hiddleston said. “I wasn’t offended, just stunned. If you truly want me to call you Abigail, then I shall—so long as it remains in this building. I don’t want you to be looked down on by the other ladies.”

“I appreciate your concern for me, though I couldn’t care less myself,” Abigail said. “I would love for you to call me Abigail.” Dr. Hiddleston flashed her a stunning smile, one that could put the sun to shame, and Abigail’s breath was taken away. He looked absolutely overjoyed. 

“Well, then, Miss Abigail,” he said, “shall we begin?”

“Oh, please,” she said, just slightly more breathy than she had anticipated. Oh, she should have known what it would do to her to hear her name come from those gorgeous lips. Dr. Hiddleston smiled again, coming closer. Her thighs parted of their own volition as he walked right up to the edge of the table, placing his big, warm hands on her ankles.

“You seem a little more tense than usual,” he said, picking up one foot and cradling it. “Tell me, darling, how has your week really been?” Abigail sighed as Dr. Hiddleston began to massage her foot, surprised but very pleased. This was new, but she liked it.

“My mother has attempted to find me suitors again,” Abigail admitted as she relaxed into the sheets. “I’ve no desire to marry any of them, but she refuses to leave me be.”

“That’s it, love, just relax,” Dr. Hiddleston said. “Let me take care of you. Do you not wish to be married?”

“I have no hatred for marriage,” Abigail said. “In fact, I rather love the concept. But if I am going to commit myself to another human being for the rest of my days, I want to know that I’ll be happy with him. Money would be nice, I won’t lie, but there are more important things. My mother doesn’t seem to understand that.”

“What would a man have to do to make you happy?” the doctor asked.

“It’s not what he would have to do, but what he would have to be. I want a man who respects me, and understands that I am independent. I don’t want to be owned.”

“You want a man who appreciates your intellect as well as your beauty,” Dr. Hiddleston said.

“Yes, precisely,” Abigail said, lifting her head to look at the doctor. “How did you know?” Dr. Hiddleston smiled warmly.

“You don’t seem the kind of woman to settle for anything less,” he said. There was a strange look in his eye, but Abigail couldn’t place it. Dr. Hiddleston switched to her other foot, and she let her head thump back into the pillows happily. “You know, I do find it odd how many women are willing to settle for a rich or handsome husband—or how many men are willing to settle for a shallow or immature woman.”

“Is that why you’re not married?” Abigail asked. The massaging stopped for a moment, and Abigail wondered if she had gone too far, but before she could apologize Dr. Hiddleston smiled gently.

“Yes, precisely. I suppose you noticed my lack of a ring?”

“Well, it is rather hard not to notice when your hands spend so much time on my body,” Abigail said, rebounding. The doctor laughed.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he said. “Speaking of, I do believe you’re nice and relaxed now, yes?”

“Yes,” Abigail said. She didn’t want the heavenly massaging to stop, but she knew what came next and she was more than excited for it. Strangely enough, the massage had aroused her as much as it had relaxed her, and she could feel some wetness collecting between her folds. Just having his hands on her was enough for that.

“Then we had better get on to the treatment,” Dr. Hiddleston said, placing Abigail’s foot down with care. “If I may, dear lady?” He always asked before he began the treatment, as if he assumed that she would say no. Abigail never did, but the amount of respect he had for her wishes was admirable and more than a little sweet.

“Of course,” Abigail said. Just moments later she felt those strong hands sliding leisurely up her calves—it was amazing how much of her skin one of his hands could cover. They were huge.

“That’s it, darling, just stay relaxed,” Dr. Hiddleston said as Abigail let her eyes slide closed. What he didn’t know was that Abigail wasn’t relaxing, she was fantasizing. The good doctor always took good care of her, for certain, but he didn’t pass the boundaries of what was gentlemanly. She had felt those fingers at her pearl, but never inside of her, never tweaking a nipple or cupping a breast. There was the vibrator for any internal stimulation, and if Dr. Hiddleston ever did anything considered uncouth with a woman—married or unmarried—then not only would his reputation be on the line, but so would his life. An angry father or brother could march in and end him, and the law would look the other way.

Abigail hated to think that way. She cared too dearly for the good man to imagine the world without him.

She put those thoughts aside and allowed herself to give in to the gentle feeling of his hands sliding up her legs beneath the covers. They were just above her knees now, and the lavender sheet was rucking up slowly, revealing more and more of her skin—both to the doctor and to the air. It gave her goosebumps. It felt like a small, torturous, lovely eternity before the doctor’s hand gently cupped her heated sex.

Abigail let out a small gasp at the sensation—it was incredible to her how much of her his hand covered. His palm alone completely encompassed her mound, and his long fingers continued down to caress her bottom. It made her feel claimed, and she relished the sensation. She would ask for no one but Dr. Hiddleston to make her feel this way.

Abigail’s breathing deepened as Dr. Hiddleston’s hand slid up, allowing the pads of his fingers to slide between her folds and through her natural slick. There wasn’t overmuch of it yet, but she was certainly wet enough for the doctor to gather some of her wetness and begin to slowly circle her pearl. She shuddered out a sigh.

He always teased her, much more than she would do to herself, but never so much as to cause anger. He had learned the delicate balance of her body long ago, and she let her eyes slip closed in bliss. She knew there was nothing to do but hang on and be patient. He wouldn’t rush no matter how she begged.

It was exquisite, beautiful desperation that built up in her, making her body undulate sinuously, hoping to find any lick of pressure it could. She could feel the coil heating, tightening inside of her, and he slowly began to increase the speed and pressure of his fingers. Carefully, though, always carefully, until her head was thrown back and she was moaning unashamedly.

Then, just before she hit the greatest of heights, she felt something entirely new. “Oh!” she gasped, her whole body jumping at the enjoyable feeling on her clit. Her eyes jumped open, and she looked down her body to see what Dr. Hiddleston was doing. Except she didn’t see him. She could feel him, but—oh by the Lord, there he was. He was no longer standing in front of her, but kneeling, his head between her legs. She hadn’t seen him at first, with the sheet in the way, but there was no mistaking it when she ripped the sheet away, baring both herself and the doctor.

Everything seemed to stop when they made eye contact. She had always admired the doctor’s eyes, deep and beautiful and ringed with dark lashes, but now there were things lingering in them that she didn’t dare hope to believe.

“Are you dissatisfied?” Dr. Hiddleston asked, his deep voice ever-so-slightly out of breath. His pupils were blown—was he aroused by her?

She swallowed thickly, trying to find her tongue. “No,” she breathed.

“Then I may continue?” She nodded.

He set upon her like a man dying of thirst. She was wracked by the sensations of his mouth and tongue as he lapped at her, broadly at first and then more direct, pinpointing where she needed it the most and giving it to her. It was surreal to see him in such a place, with her thighs over his strong shoulders, holding tight to her hips as he ate of her. She heard a wailing noise and only belatedly realized it was her.

She couldn’t help it—she grasped at his hair, pressing her most sensitive places against him, and was rewarded with the most incredible groan. If she had thought he hadn’t been enjoying this before, she was proven wrong then. She squirmed and bucked, her back bowing as she tried to get herself as close to his sinful mouth as she could. Within moments she was consumed by the need to fall from that height, and he was not a man to disappoint. She cried out as she came, aware of a feeling she had only enjoyed a few times before. She gushed her pleasure, and Dr. Hiddleston’s heady moan was enough to carry her away into bliss.

When she lay back, panting, he gently extricated her hand from his hair. One of the first things she realized was that he was panting too. When she looked down at him she found his eyes nearly black with lust, but his hands were holding hers gently. His chest heaved and his chin dripped, and all she could think of to say was, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Dr. Hiddleston said, brow furrowing. “My darling woman, there is nothing to be sorry for. You are so gorgeous when you come.”

“You’re all wet,” she gasped out, still shaking from the high, and was surprised when he let out the smallest groan.

“Doctor,” she ventured, “are you…have you done this for other women?”

“No,” Dr. Hiddleston admitted. “No, I…forgive me, but it is overstepping the bounds of propriety.”

“Then why did you do it?” she asked. She immediately cringed, wishing she hadn’t asked, but he held her hands firm.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he said, voice deepening. “I’ve seen the way your gaze lingers, how you appraise me anew every time you step into my office. I’ve spent so many hours daydreaming about you—your beautiful body, your beautiful mind. You are captivating, Abigail, and I am so tired of holding back. I need to know, darling. Do you feel the same?”

She held his gaze. If it had felt surreal before, it felt impossible now—but it was true, and she knew it. It was the combination of sincerity, lust and affection on his face that made her certain. And, in that moment, she knew there was hardly a choice.

“I do,” she said, “and I have.”

Dr. Hiddleston’s face burst into the brightest, most joyous smile she had ever seen. He laughed like he had to, like he couldn’t hold all of his happiness inside of himself and it came bubbling out of his throat, and he wiped the tears from his eyes when he was done. Abigail beamed. It still felt surreal, but she knew he’d be there tomorrow when the reality hit.

He finally stood, clasping her hands in his before he brought them to his mouth, holding her gaze. She had never thought a kiss on the hand was very telling, but his felt somehow extremely tender. “Thank you, my darling, thank you beyond words,” he said.

“I feel I ought to be thanking you!” she said. They laughed together, her hands still ensconced in his. She looked him over as she subsided into giggles, taking in every inch of the man she could now call hers, and she saw a bulge in his trousers that made her core throb.

Dr. Hiddleston noticed the change in her demeanor, but once he saw what she was looking at he misattributed the change. “Oh, no, no, my darling, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, releasing her hands to pull his white coat tightly closed. “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean—there is no pressure for you to do anything, my dearest. It’s just a biological reaction. I will not pressure you into anything, please know that.”

She worried her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, looking up at Dr. Hiddleston—Thomas, she should call him now—and contemplated her next move. It only took a moment of consideration before she said, “What if there were no pressure involved? What if…I asked you to?”

Tom’s eyes got wide at the proposition, and wider when Abigail trailed her foot up the inside of his thigh. He choked out a moan before he grasped her ankle, stopping her just before she reached her destination. “Abigail, please—“

“Please what?” she asked. “Be a good girl and do the proper thing? When have I ever been the woman to give a thought to others’ perceptions of right and wrong? I want you, and I see no reason not to have you—if you are likewise inclined.”

For a moment Tom struggled for words, just staring at her with his jaw moving ever-so-slightly, as if that would make the sound come out. His grip on her ankle loosened just enough for her to stroke his covered erection with the ball of her foot, and he stuttered out a groan. “Abigail,” he finally said, “darling, are you certain?”

“Entirely,” Abigail said. And it was true. There was a bubble of nervousness in her stomach, but it paled in comparison to her desire. She rubbed her foot carefully over Tom’s shaft, feeling the size of him and the way his whole body was shuddering desperately. He was trying so hard to hold himself back, bless him. But he didn’t need to. Abigail held her arms out to him. “Come here and stop thinking so hard. I want this, I promise.”

Tom nearly melted on top of her, taking the opportunity to get as close to her as he could. He crawled up onto the cushioned table, but kept on his knees, pelvis well above her as they finally—finally—kissed. Abigail could taste herself on him, but it was a light taste that left room on her taste buds for his own masculine flavor. There was a barely restrained longing in that kiss as he devoured her mouth, leaving her weak-kneed and breathless as his tongue coaxed hers into dancing. She let out a tremulous moan when he pulled away from her, but only so far as was necessary. She could feel his humid breath on her lips.

“Abigail, I—oh!” Tom gasped.

“Yes?” Abigail panted, palming Tom’s rock-hard erection through the fabric of his trousers.

“I, ahh-hhhuh,” Tom groaned, head dropping as his whole body shook. He looked like he was barely capable of holding himself up over Abigail’s body, his arms trembling, and Abigail wondered what he would look like after an orgasm. Right then, eyes closed in bliss and mouth open, eyebrows high on his forehead and drawn together, perfect hair mussed by Abigail’s hands, she couldn’t believe he could look any better. “Oh, Abigail, you need to stop.”

“Why?” Abigail asked. “You’ve given me so much pleasure, Doctor, I believe it’s high time I repay you.” Tom groaned, hips shifting involuntarily into her hand. He was large—very large. That much Abigail could already feel.

“I—ah! I don’t want to come yet, darling, please,” Tom said in a rush. “I don’t want this to be over so soon.”

That was enough to make Abigail slowly retract her hand, making Tom both relax against her and whine at the loss. Tom raised his head to look at her then, swallowing heavily before saying, “Dearest, please believe me, I want nothing more than to come at your command. But I want to be able to do it while nestled inside of you, I want you to find orgasm with me connected to you in the most intimate of ways. If that is truly what you want?”

“Yes,” Abigail said, feeling a wave of warmth flood her lower regions at his words. Oh, how many times had she dreamt of this! “Tom, yes.” Tom let out a tremolo moan, nuzzling into her bare shoulder.

“Say my name again, dove,” he begged.

“Tom,” Abigail cooed, her hands finding purchase in the doctor’s hair once again. “Oh, my Tom.”

“Yes, yours,” Tom said, placing a chaste kiss on her shoulder before looking her dead in the eye. “Abigail, I need you to tell me honestly, and know I will not judge you whatever your answer may be—have you ever been with a man before?” Abigail blushed. “Please know I ask only so I can understand how best to please you.”

“So if I said I had been with many men, you would not be angry?” Abigail asked, intrigued.

“Never,” Tom vowed. “I may, perhaps, be jealous that they knew you when I did not, but what happened before means nothing to me. You are a grown woman, and capable of making your own decisions. I just need to know what kind of gentility I need to show.”

Abigail would have been lying if she had said she wasn’t stunned. It had been drilled into her mind since childhood; a woman who was not a virgin was a woman who was not worth having. She had never understood that notion, but it was there nonetheless and it had affected her. That Tom would accept her regardless of her previous experience went against everything she had been taught, and she reveled in it—and in him.

“I have never been with a man,” Abigail admitted.

“Then I will be doubly careful,” Tom vowed as he leaned down to kiss Abigail’s collarbone, her shoulder, her neck. He paid special attention to the few splattered, dark freckles on her skin. Abigail felt herself relax completely, sure of her safety and her comfort. “Tell me immediately if I do anything you are uncomfortable with,” Tom murmured against her skin, continuing to trail downwards onto the swell of her breast. “Abigail, promise me.”

“I promise,” Abigail sighed just as Tom let his lips skim gently over one hardened nipple. Abigail shivered at the feeling. Of course she had used her hands there before, but as Tom closed his lips around the peaked bud she realized that she could never have compared to the heat of that mouth. At first he just mouthed at her nipple, but soon enough he was sucking and licking her, making her mewl. Just like when he was playing with her clit, he teased her long after she was ready for more, but she found she couldn’t complain. He certainly knew what he was doing, and that alone was an excitement. Not only was she going to give her virginity to a man she deemed worthy, he was going to make it as good as possible for her.

Once he deemed that nipple well and truly pleasured, Tom moved on to the next, administering the same gentle torture until Abigail was writhing beneath him. Oh, she was so wet. She had known her nipples were sensitive, but of course the only person who had touched them was her, and this was so very different. It was so much better.

Abigail finally got her wits about her to realize that the good doctor was still completely clothed, while she was utterly naked. That wouldn’t do, so she started smoothing the white cotton coat over Tom’s broad shoulders. Tom groaned and helped her to shuck it off, and she took the opportunity to let her hands grope Tom’s defined arm muscles. They were corded with tension of the best kind, and she could tell he was oh so strong. He could be holding her down and taking what he wanted, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t using any force on her at all, and that was mind-bogglingly heady. That would have been enough on its own to make her really consider him sincere, let alone the kindness, gentility and care he was using at every moment.

Tom’s shirt was next to go, then his belt. His lips came up to hers and drowned her in the most sensual kiss, which they held as Tom removed his own trousers and underthings. He struggled a moment to remove his shoes and socks while keeping his lips firmly attached to Abigail’s, but he was successful in the end and, once fully naked, slowly settled some of his weight on Abigail’s.

Abigail’s mind was swimming with the feel of his skin against hers. It was something she had never felt before, and he was so warm, so solid. She could feel the definition of his musculature against her front, and-and—oh yes, that was what she thought it was. His hardened shaft lay between them on her lower stomach, his testes against her dripping slit. She swooned. She still couldn’t see it, with the kiss consuming her, but if she had formed any doubts about his size they were gone now. She wasn’t sure it would all fit. She wanted to try.

Tom finally broke the kiss, making Abigail whine. She was already becoming addicted to his kisses. She tried to follow his lips, but he pulled too far away. When she opened her eyes she found him looking intently at her, as if right through her, and the intensity of his gaze was almost frightening.

“Abigail, are you sure this is what you want?” Tom asked. He almost sounded like he was pressing her to say no, to take it back and end this, but she knew it was only him trying to ensure she really, truly wanted to continue.

“Absolutely,” Abigail said, taking Tom’s sculpted face in her hands and looking dead at him. “I want this, Tom—I want you.” There was a moment of silent eye contact where Tom seemed to search Abigail’s face for any signs of fear or uncertainty, but he found none and shakily nodded his head.

As he slid his hips down her, leaving a smearing wet trail on her belly, Abigail’s nervousness intensified. Oh, Lord above, was she really doing this? But she knew she was, and she was certain of her choice. Tom maintained eye contact as he reached down to position himself, saying, “If I hurt you—if I hurt you at all—I want you to stop me. There is no shame in taking this slow, or changing your mind.” Abigail reached between them and put her hand over Tom’s steering him towards her waiting heat.

“I promise,” she said.

That was what he needed to hear, and he slowly, slowly started pushing forward, eyes locked on her face to be aware of her reaction. Her sensations of him seemed to do him little justice; she had felt his size before, but now he seemed almost double that as he pressed into her. At first it was just a blunt stretch, but after just a few seconds there was a sharp pain through her abdomen. She sucked in a breath and Tom immediately stilled, eyes on her.

“Darling?” he asked, hushed. “Are you alright?”

“I…” Abigail started. She wasn’t sure she could go through with this now. Was this how it would be all the way in? The pain was ebbing, but it still throbbed. She was blinking tears from her eyes.

“That’s the worst part, love,” Tom said. “It gets better after this. But if you want to, you can still tell me to stop.”

Abigail took a moment to think about it. After all, she would rather stop now than be upset about it later, but she believed Tom when he said the worst had passed. The pain was fading quickly, after all, and she did truly want to be part and parcel of this man, at least for a moment. The poor thing was staying so still for her, when it must have been torture not to move. Abigail knew her own comfort was more important than Tom’s blue balls, but she did feel touched. And there had always been a slight pinch when the vibrator entered anyway, and that had always been gone after only a few moments. “I can keep going,” she decided. “Just please take it slow.”

“Of course, dear heart!” Tom said, but he still stayed stationary. “Are you sure about this? I can still pull out.”

“I’m sure, Tom. I really do want this.”

It took Tom another moment, but he did slowly start moving again—not until he had interlaced the fingers of his right hand with Abigail’s, though. The gesture warmed Abigail’s heart. Even silently, Tom was still showing his care for her. And Tom was right, it did seem that the hardest part was over. The place that had hurt before still stung, but it didn’t really hurt any more going forward. It felt like parting the way, but other than the size difference it really didn’t differ much from the feeling of the vibrator. The feeling of flesh was strange and new, but Abigail liked it.

Tom kept up a steady, but slow pace until he was buried to the hilt, and still his eyes were on Abigail. His concern was for her, and not for his own aroused state. And it was clear he was in a state—his face was flushed, his breathing deep and just a little heavy, and his arm quaked from holding him up, but still his full attention was on Abigail.

Abigail allowed herself a moment to adjust before she said, “Please move.” Tom grunted involuntarily, those words sounding so incredibly sexy, but held still.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice strained.

“Yes,” Abigail said. “Please.”

That was enough. It started out slow and gentle, just the tiniest movements possible, and Abigail was glad she’d had the experience with the vibrator on other visits. It made the feeling much less foreign, for which she was grateful. It truly wasn’t either pleasurable or painful, but that wasn’t so bad. She had heard it got better. And, in any case, she was just enjoying the look on Tom’s face; he looked in pain and deep concentration, but also looked nearly overcome with pleasure. It was arousing just to see his pleasured grimace.

Tom’s eyes were now blown, his pupil covering most of his iris, but even though sweat dripped down his temple from the exertion it took to keep the languid pace he wouldn’t speed up. Once Abigail became more accustomed to the feel of it, the pain almost numbed, she experimentally rolled her hips and Tom gasped as his pelvis stuttered into hers. His eyes, now round as saucers, sought hers with both caution and a desperate plea in them, so she repeated the movement.

Tom’s groan was deep in his chest, almost ripped out from the core of him, and Abigail felt a distinct throb in her core at the arousal in that sound. Within moments they had created a rhythm, a push and pull that became more and more frantic as they neared their respective peaks. Abigail let moan after moan fall from her mouth, each one seemingly echoed by Tom’s own, and all it took was a slight change of angle to take the sensation from enjoyable to excellent. Abigail gasped, bucking hard into the feeling, and Tom groaned.

“Oh, darling, yes!” he cried. “That was it? Was that it?”

Abigail was no stranger to her g-spot, thanks to the beauty of the vibrator, and immediately answered, “Yes, Tom, yes! Right there, please.” Tom groaned and doubled his efforts, despite how red his face and neck were from exertion. They were both dripping sweat, but with every thrust Tom hit against that place in her and drove her higher and higher, closer to her peak.

When she thought she couldn’t take any more, Tom reached down with one hand and tweaked at her neglected clit. That was all it took, and the spring that had wound tight in Abigail’s belly snapped. She shouted out as her orgasm hit her hard, clenching around Tom’s member, and Tom let out an absolutely animal sound.

Tom abruptly pulled out, leaving Abigail empty, and as Abigail cleared from the haze she saw him grimacing while he worked his hand over his shaft, eyes squeezed shut. He looked utterly tortured, desperately trying to reach his peak. Abigail ran a hand over his face, making him moan, though he didn’t open his beautiful eyes. “Cum Tom,” she said, still catching her breath. “Cum for me.”

Tom let out a shaking moan as he released, the hot splash of his seed hitting Abigail’s bare stomach. Even breathless as she was, Abigail couldn’t help but feel awe at the beautiful bliss on his face—and that she had put it there. The moment seemed to stretch on, and then Tom’s whole body relaxed. He barely kept himself up on his one shaking arm, and Abigail reached out to him and coaxed him to lay beside her. He was so warm and real against her side.

There was a long silence where they both caught their breaths and reveled in the closeness. Then Tom huffed a little laugh and drew Abigail closer still. She nestled into him easily. “Well, I can’t say I’m upset with the way this all turned out.” Abigail smiled.

“Where do we go now?” she asked.

“I’d like to eventually court you, if you’re willing,” Tom said, “but if you need more time to get to know me that isn’t a problem. I want to know every little thing about you.”

“Isn’t it funny,” Abigail said, “we know almost nothing about each other and yet here we are?”

“Knowing about a person’s life and knowing a person are two different things,” Tom said. “I might not know much about how you grew up or what your favorite color is, but I know that you’re a spitfire of a woman who isn’t afraid to go after what she wants. You have incredible confidence and power, and that’s drawn me to you regardless of what kind of life you’ve led.”

Abigail beamed. “Well, I daresay the same about you,” she said. “The past is never as important as the future.”

“That’s my woman,” Tom said, smiling widely. He really was like the sun.

“What do we do for the next thirty minutes?” Abigail asked, resting her head back in the crook of Tom’s arm. “Do you want to talk?”

“We can, if you’d like,” Tom said.

“I’d rather save the talk and enjoy just being with you,” Abigail responded.

“Well, then, that is what we shall do,” Tom said, looking mightily pleased. They cuddled together as Tom pulled the sheet over them, Abigail trying not to shift too much. She ached dully, but it wasn’t so bad. Abigail hardly noticed when she started dozing off, sure of her safety and her happiness. Tomorrow would bring changes, but only those of the best kind.


End file.
